


U N M E N T I O N A B L E

by nklayne



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BDSM, Bellamort, Death Eaters, M/S, Master/Slave, Multi, S/M, Sadomasochism, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-30 06:07:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6412090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nklayne/pseuds/nklayne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of Dark Lord flashes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

** U N M E N T I O N A B L E ** : A series of Dark Lord flashes. 

         _CHAPTER TWO:_ _ the posture; bellamort; 738 words _

_         master/slave, sadomasochism, kidnapping  _

_         Bellatrix brings a gift to her Lord as a nod to her devotion. The Dark Lord, however, has different ideas of what would demonstrate her allegiance.  _


	2. the posture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellatrix brings a gift to her Lord as a nod to her devotion. The Dark Lord, however, has different ideas of what would demonstrate her allegiance.

**the posture**

**_bellamort_ **

_Word count: 738_

Bellatrix knelt in front of her Lord, dressed only in white and rust scars.

Her neck curved downwards, so only the tail of His robe was in sight. And she willed her kneeling knees to be boulder like, in rebellion to every itch and shake the posture inspired. And her breaths -- hushed admissions, like animals rustling in the velvet-night.

In the posture, He could ignore her if He would like.

To her side was a gagged, pallid woman. Sharp jute rope curled around the bound’s wrists, slithering up and around her neck, keeping her in prayer.

He shifted, away from Bella, towards the  victim. Only when the distance was tangible, as if the posture overstretched her ligaments, did He hiss. “You may speak.”

“My Lord...”She paused, shrinking herself beneath the honorific’s presence. “May I look at You?”

His laughter was short and abrupt. “Yes, Bellatrix,” He moved back towards her, rubbed her wrangled curls, “You may.”

Bella stretched her neck to meet Him in the face.

The Dark Lord towered over her, like the Grim Reaper himself. He was doused in layers of velvet robes, adding more space to His figure. His hood was up, shadowing most of His features, except for His smug grin and glowing eyes.  

The small glimpse ignited Bellatrix, bringing pulse to her groin and fantasies to her mind. She dug her nails into her thigh, allowing the sharpness to ground her. She must still keep still. She must not leave the posture until He tells her to. But He did say she can speak...

“Can You taste me?” she asked, broad wicked smile. “Do you like what You taste?”

The Dark Lord tightly gripped Bella’s hair and pulled back, so her neck rolled backwards. The tug’s bite radiated around her skull.

Bella hummed joy into it.

“I taste your every wanton thought.” The Dark lord flicked his tongue at her in a rattling hiss. “I taste every cut and scab on your body.” He rubbed his other hand down her throat, past her breasts, until He dug into her ass, opening up the scabs that criss-crossed the curve of her cheek.

“You taste...” She was quivering, as she opened thighs, breaking the posture. “You taste like a very bad girl.”  

He lightly caressed Bellatrix’ shape. Puffy, wet lips. Hard clit.

As he stepped away, Bellatrix whimpered.

“What’s all this?” The Dark Lord asked while hand-motioning to the gagged woman that orbited them.

“A present, My Lord.” Bellatrix laughed. Electric cackle. “Sympathizer.”

She flipped herself, so she was kneeling on all fours, ready to pounce. “Traitor.”

The Dark Lord nodded as He bent towards the victim. A gangly pale woman, staring at the Lord with wet doe eyes.

He leaned close to her, so His hood brushed against her forehead, and took a long breath in.

She squirmed backwards, shifting the rope-collar and exposing speckled rope-burns.

The Dark Lord pushed Himself closer, so He was right on top of her.

Bellatrix swallowed. “Master...”

The Dark Lord cradled His legs over the bound victim. “A sympathizer? A muggle-aficionado?” He smirked, as He grinded. “The real question tho -- muggle or wizard torture?”

“You may not know this...” He whispered into her ear, “but I’m versed in both.”

“Master...” A heated grip enveloped Bellatrix’s throat. This wasn’t going as she planned.

The Dark Lord pushed His hostage’s skirt up. Creamy thighs. Fresh canvas for Him to scratch into. Baby-pink lines popped up at the first swipe. The Dark Lord smirked into the innocence of these wounds, until He clawed in again, reaching sweet scarlet.

She rattled beneath Him, muffled screams, only encouraging Him to dig deeper.

Rusty blood started to leak. “Hm. Wonder how many swipes til I reach bone?”

The woman shook beneath Him, choking tears.

He moaned a long, guttural note, signifying that He was getting to the place. The place that Bellatrix wanted to bring Him to. That powerful place that made her proud to wear His brand.

“I could flay you instead? One quick spell?”

“Master, please.” Bellatrix raised her voice as she shook, barely holding back her tears. Holding back her screams. “Please, let me help You.”  

“No. How can we work together when you can't even keep your posture?” The Dark Lord glared at her, as He continued to grind and scratch. “So, now Bellatrix -- my pet, my slave. You must do what pets and slaves do. Kneel and watch.”


End file.
